


Days Slow and Dear

by saisei



Series: IgNoct Week 2019 [2]
Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Animal Death, Animal Transformation, Fish, Fish KIng, M/M, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-30
Updated: 2019-07-30
Packaged: 2020-07-27 12:35:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,885
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20046118
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/saisei/pseuds/saisei
Summary: When the final battle ends, there's a Sunrise Lucian Carp on the throne. (Ignoct Week Day 2: Loyalty/Someone gets turned into an animal)





	Days Slow and Dear

Much later, Ignis will curse the gods, each and every one of them. He knows them well enough by now to be able to be very, very personal in the insults he chooses. But in the moments after entering the shattered wreck of the throne room, he feels – in swift succession – despair, panic, and then calm, single-minded purpose.

"There's a fish on the throne," Prompto says, voice cracking and high, as if he's asking a question. Gladio grunts hard, as if he's been punched in the gut, and Ignis for the life of him cannot picture what they're seeing.

"Does it live?" he asks, sharp with impatience.

"Probably not much longer," Gladio says. "There's blood, and it's... thrashing around."

They've always kept polytanks of water in the armiger; Ignis hauls one out now, and sets it on the floor, and says very weakly, "The armiger exists."

"And water is wet," Prompto agrees. Bootheels ring on the staircase. "I'm on it, Igster."

Gladio shears the top of the tank off with one of his lethal blades, and Ignis cups his hand in the water, sips to check freshness, thinks of all the things that could go wrong. Prompto brings the fish down swaddled in his jacket. He slides it into the tank and they all hold their breath, watching and listening. Praying.

There's a slap in the water, an angry swish of a tail, and Prompto laughs.

Gladio drops a hand on Ignis' shoulder, like he needs the support to stay upright. "He's swimming."

"Hey Iggy?" Prompto says, and he leans against Ignis from the other side. "Don't take this the wrong way, but I just became a vegan."

*

The fish is a Sunrise Lucian Carp, because of course it is. Prompto says it's beautiful in the light, and he takes pictures every free second he has. (There aren't many in the beginning, because of the need to repair and fill the pond in the Citadel's garden, rig a filter and an aerator, and figure out what to _feed_ the carp.)

No one can say for certain that the carp _is_ Noct, but neither can that be disproved. In the first few weeks, while they keep a constant watch over it, Ignis kisses it surreptitiously no less than three times, to no effect. He supposes he must be grateful that the gods didn't see fit to put a garula on the throne, or a coeurl, but a fish is, well, cold comfort for a blind man. A selfish part of him feels cheated that Noct – if it _is_ Noct – didn't come back in a cuddlier form. A dog or cat or chocobo, that he could pet and talk to.

He's glad the fish is beautiful; he's grateful for all the gifts of the dawn.

But he wishes he could see.

*

He entertained thoughts, back during the apocalypse, of retiring once the King brought back the light. He imagined a cottage and an herb garden, and that locals would consider him eccentric. In his wilder, secret dreams, he saw himself keeping house for Noct; as friends, perhaps more.

He was right about everything, except the cottage. He has the ruin of the Citadel instead.

_Go big and go home_, Prompto tells him as they reclaim the Grand Conservatory. The greenhouse windows are mostly broken and the colorful songbirds are long gone, but with patient work they clear the royal gardens, working outward from the reflection pool where one Sunrise Lucian Carp swims. Instead of flowers they plant rows of cabbages, potatoes, onions, beans – and herbs, of course. Ignis sets up his meager household, such as it is, in a sitting room which had once had doors opening onto the garden. He doesn't mind the lack of doors; he's quite used to sleeping in the open by now.

Very few people return to Insomnia, and even fewer stay. The city's under Lestallum's jurisdiction, and every day a certain number of trucks are permitted into the city to collect what machines, tools, and goods they can. But for the most part it's a ghost city, falling into ruin.

Gladio and Prompto come and go, but they're increasingly busy with projects in the city and on the mainland. They keep Ignis supplied with fish food; he feeds them vegetarian meals. To keep fit, he climbs the stairs to the throne room twice a day, to observe sunrise and sunset. He's occasionally tempted to sit on the throne, but he resists.

He believes the Lucian king lives. 

*

He's woken very early one morning by the sound of wet thrashing, and he dashes out onto the garden paths barefoot and only in his underwear, impelled by terror.

The daemons are gone, but he's heard from Prompto about the feral cats and dogs that roam the city. The wild animals that escaped from the zoo. Great raptors with nests atop high buildings. So many dangers, and he has no way of seeing whether the carp is still in the water.

He shouts, hoping to scare the creature off, hoping someone sighted is within earshot. And then he stands as still as he can, listening. He can hear the frenzied beating of a tail against the ground, and a growl. Dog, then, and big enough he can't risk it fleeing with its prize. He pulls out a dagger and throws it; misses, he thinks, but he's nearly to where it is. He can hear it breathing, and water dripping from its fur, and that steadily weakening struggle of a fish out of water.

He moves forward along the familiar path around the pond – he walks into the wheelbarrow, tipping it over, but that's no matter – there's a bare moment when he's certain he knows where the dog is, and then with a snarl it's on him. He hasn't fought in over a year, but the movements of battle come as naturally to him as they did to the MTs, so many years ago. He kills the animal near-instantly and is flooded with shame and regret. Prompto will be broken-hearted. Ignis... has no time to spare for feelings.

He drops to his hands and knees. He can't hear the fish anymore, but he knows where it was. Patting along the ground, he moves forward with caution but speed. He has no time for error. When he finds it, it's still under his hands and as he lifts it.

He carries it to the water clutched to his bare chest like a baby, and when he gets to the pond he steps in, dropping to kneel, waiting for the water to work its magic. 

He's not holding a dead fish.

He's not.

He can't be, because this fish came from the Astrals themselves, and he believes it's the King.

He believes it's his oldest, dearest friend and the man he loves, who cannot be dead.

He's cold – freezing – but he has to wait, just a little longer.

*

The fish slips out of his shaking hands, drifting away into the darkness, and Ignis can no longer stave off the grief that he's walled away.

"Hey," Noct says, and there's a hand on Ignis' cheek, swiping ineffectually at the tears. "Iggy. _Iggy_."

It's nice, Ignis thinks, to have finally lost his grip on sanity. He'd have preferred a less damp madness, but it's almost as if Noct is really, truly here with him. He's grateful. He hopes he dies of the cold before he comes back to his senses.

But before that... He reaches out, finds Noct by touch: bare shoulder, neck; cheek, the curve of his lips, opened to say something but shutting obediently with a finger over them. He leans down for a kiss, which can't be forbidden now, and his fantasy most certainly won't push him away. Not a small blessing, that.

The kiss rapidly progresses from chaste and reverent to pornographic, but he sees no reason to hold back. This is a feast, after years of starvation, and his perfect illusory Noct reciprocates every touch, hands exploring his arms and back, fingers in his hair, chests and hips pressed together, an intimacy that tells Ignis they're both hard as well, at least as much as is possible standing waist-deep in cold water.

He loses track of time. It hardly matters; he has more important things at hand, the firmness of Noct's hip, and the perfect curves of his ear.

But then Noct is pulling away, and the air is bright with his laughter. Ignis can't help himself. He clings, terrified that if he loses his grip on this as well then he'll be really and truly alone.

"You're turning blue," Noct says. "It's not a good color on you, Specs, you know that." He tugs on Ignis' hands, and Ignis allows himself to be led. The pond isn't meant for swimming, so there are no steps. Clambering out while keeping both his hands on Noct isn't the easiest thing, but Ignis has done harder in his life. Living without Noct, for example. "We need blankets, towels, clothes if you have them."

Noct's arm is around his waist, and they're walking on the path toward the gallery. Ignis corrects the course absently. He likes the idea of Noct wearing his clothes, though he knows Noct's own are still in the Armiger, neatly pressed and folded. Waiting.

They dress each other, in matching button-down shirts. Ignis has to kneel to roll the cuffs of his trousers up on Noct's ankles, and there are hands in his hair as he does so. He hasn't styled it, he recalls, and neither has he put on his glasses. He must look a fright. He wishes he could see Noct.

Noct makes him sit with him, wrapped up in both blankets and each other.

"What happened?" Noct asks.

Ignis tells him the story of the Sunrise Lucian Carp. Noct leans against him, and nods along, and wants to know exactly how long he'd been.

"I don't want to be the kind of catch that gets tossed back," Noct says, as if his position's the only reasonable one. He holds Ignis' hands apart under the blanket, measuring a ridiculous length. "This long?"

Ignis moves his hands closer; half that length. A little shorter.

Noct laughs. "No wonder you guys didn't sashimi my ass. Good call waiting to see if I grew."

"You died," Ignis reminds him, because he seems not to realize how important that is. "Twice now."

"Third time's the charm," Noct says with a shrug, and presses in closer. He turns Ignis' cheek with his cold fingers and kisses him, slow and languid. "Warm me up?"

"If I must," Ignis says, already touching, greedy. "I loved you so much, did you know that?"

Noct trails kisses down his neck. "I guessed. I always imagined you'd be the slow courtship type, but I like seeing you like this."

"If you're still here tomorrow," Ignis promises, "I'll court you, I swear I will." 

Noct stills for a moment, and then lifts his head, kissing Ignis' eyelids, the scarred one first. "I'll be here," he says.

Ignis nods and kisses him again, in lieu of admitting he doesn't believe that. He's lost his steadfast belief in the future, he finds, but he doesn't mourn it. Not here, with Noct in his arms.


End file.
